Teamwork
by librophile
Summary: Sherlock was the mind behind the operation - but neither he or John debated that it always took teamwork to reach their goal. Companion to "Collision Course." No slash.
1. Clear

_Let's start out with the all-dialogue treatment...  
_

* * *

**Clear**

"Easy, there's a step there."

"Remind me just whose idea this was?"

"And a turn to your left –"

"Because I really don't think it was mine."

"Watch it, there's a loose stone behind you."

"I don't suppose this is a good time to mention I have a knife in my right pocket?"

"…Why didn't you mention that before?"

"I tried, but you seemed to think it was so much easier to walk down a hallway tied back to back."

"_John_…!"

"Just get that knife out and cut us loose, will you?"

"We'll certainly have a hard time explaining _this_."


	2. Ordinary

**Ordinary**

It's an ordinary crime scene, right down to the pre-investigative sniping between Sherlock and the local police force and his inevitably correct conclusions. _Not_ including the unexpected hostage situation involving _himself_ as said hostage.

How did things get out of control so quickly?

Then there was a whiz, a thud as something – his… friend? – hit the man, and he was free.

"I told you that limp was psychosomatic," Sherlock snorted as he got up off the ground.

"Unfortunately for you, since that would have meant I had a more convenient projectile," John returned amiably.

"Touché."

Welcome to the new normal.


	3. Time

**Time**

John rolled his eyes as he looked at his flatmate. "I thought you were too busy to come?" he questioned ironically, glancing at the rushing police officers busy roping off the main scene. John absently rubbed the back of his neck as he added, "About time though, thought you weren't going to make it. What kept you?"

"Well, I couldn't very well leave a friend in danger, could I?" Sherlock replied off-handedly. "Besides, I thought you had a date. We wouldn't want you to miss that." His eyes twinkled teasingly.

John snorted. "I did – hopefully I still do, since she's been waiting two hours already. And it would be helpful if I didn't have you or your brother monitoring each and every one. Get your own date, why don't you? Then at least you'd have an excuse for tagging along."

"John, that is entirely your area – not mine."

"I'm sure Molly wouldn't have any protests, the girl's smitten with you…"

"Yes, yes," Sherlock cut him off hastily. "Now do be quiet, I'm trying to think."

John smirked triumphantly.


	4. Real

**Real**

What's in a name? A rather flippant thought that has passed numerous times through her mind, truthfully, but it _is_ true. After all, what use is having a real name when your job requires that you have a new one, sometimes by the hour?

Not to say she doesn't enjoy her work. Every time she helps Mr. Holmes with one of his problems (or disasters, depending on whether or not Sherlock was involved) she feels a sense of accomplishment. Though it means that she is never contacted again by anyone she happens to meet on the job. And with that condition, whether she likes the fact or not, she really _has_ no identity. Sometimes she feels a lingering need to tell her real name to someone who _isn't_ top secret government.

Then she is called in on the 'abduction' of John Watson. He asks her name. And she wonders, _How much can one time hurt?_

"Anthea."

She might deny it later, but at least she's had the chance.


	5. Exceptional

**Exceptional**

"Are you all right?"

Donavan started at the four completely unprecedented syllables erupting from the mouth of their local self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath (which really made no sense whatsoever, but there was no stopping him) as he helped the Doctor to his feet. The latter paused for a moment to make sure his feet were steady beneath him, then replied, "Fine. And you?"

An abrupt nod from the other; then Sherlock was off into another scathing monologue about the incompetence of the Yard in general and the radius of a controlled explosion, occasionally supplemented by the man he – now – called friend.


	6. Blame

**Blame**

It was nothing that could have been helped – though judging by the expression on Sherlock's face, he obviously thinks otherwise. Lestrade is incredulous to see the look of self-recrimination on his face; this from the man who routinely scorns Scotland Yard and flaunts his own tactics on a whim!

But again, however much he may try to hide it Sherlock is indeed human. He does care for a small, honored number.

Never has this been more self-evident than when Lestrade enters the room to find Sherlock poised in a chair between two hospital beds, eying the nurses and standing guard over his brother and his best friend as though he is the only barrier between these two and the harm that at any moment could befall them.

Lestrade smiles as he walks away.

Yes, they will be just fine.


	7. Misplaced

**Misplaced**

It was missing.

Ella frowned and searched under the table she was sure she had set it on. Her psychiatrist's notes were confidential, surely no one had taken the booklet? It was an impractical scenario, at best.

She quickly looked through her purse; nothing there, either. At least not a small brown-backed book with her notes on one Doctor John H. Watson. And she needed it now, too, she was already running late for work.

Ella turned to give the room one last perusal and stopped abruptly. There it was, on the stand where she had left it. How did...

Down below, a calm brunette stood next to a sleek black car with her phone in hand. She glanced up at the apartment's window, then slipped into the car's back seat. It pulled silently away from the curb.

Inside, the brunette typed a quick text. _Mr. Holmes:_ _Mission accomplished. –A_.


	8. Why Not?

**Why Not?**

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

Not the question he'd expected to be asked, in any possible scenario; after all, usually a man making veiled offers of a bribe would either order the man who had turned them down out of London or offer an equally veiled threat. Again, since he had no clue how this scenario would turn out anyway, what harm could stating his thoughts do?

"I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business."

"It could be."

John met the stranger's eyes levelly. "It really couldn't."

_It's my business, now._

* * *

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

He'd asked this question several times already; his latest try had scared the subject out of London altogether, and the last two had completely refused to speak to Sherlock again. Still, what harm could asking this latest prospect – not intimidated at all, despite being swept off the streets by an unmarked car – about his intentions?

John Watson looked at him flatly. "I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business."

"It could be." What harm could asking again, despite failure, do...

"It really couldn't."

_My thoughts exactly._

* * *

"_Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?_"

Anthea listened to the conversation – recorded by a microphone installed in the handle of Mr. Holmes's cane – with interest; it was rare that any prospect had lasted this long under fire, let alone so calmly. She was intrigued. After all, what harm could taking professional notice of the man be?

"_I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business._"

"_It could be._"

"_It really couldn't._"

Minutes later she blinked. Mr. Holmes had never sent one _home_ before...

Apparently there was more to this John Watson.

_Good luck_.


	9. Hurt

**Hurt**

Sherlock swims murkily back to consciousness, blinking lethargically as he tries to focus. _Bed... not Baker Street, somewhere else... hospital? Why would I be in a hospital – wait. Case... Gunshot..._

_John._

Sherlock sits bolt upright with a gasp, barely noticing the stab of pain across his chest as he does so. Suddenly there are hands on his shouders, gently helping him lay back down despite his weak protests. He looks up to see Mycroft's worried (_Worried?)_ face.

Sherlock whispers, "John...?"

"He's fine, not anything serious," Mycroft reassures. "I checked on him first before coming here."

They exchange an understanding smile.


	10. Guard

_This one is a 221B. You choose the time frame...  
_

* * *

**Guard**

The alley was midnight-dark, light blocked by the shadows of highrise buildings on either side. In the center of it, the officers of Scotland Yard stood frozen as they watched their quarry turn his pistol on the prone, unmoving form of Doctor John Watson.

"Well, here you have it," the man said mockingly. "Either you let us go – because I'll be taking my hostage with me, of course – or we all stop right here."

At that moment, a shot rang out and the fugitive let out a strangled yelp, grasping his upper arm. John surged from his position on the ground to subdue the man, laying him prone on the ground in moments and binding his hands behind his back with cord as the Yard tried to see where the shot had come from. No one was in sight.

John waved off their offers of help, looking tired rather than frightened, and soon excused himself from the scene.

Upon arriving home John found his pistol moved from where he had hidden it to an inconspicuous place on the mantle. It was warm to the touch, and upon checking he found one of the rounds had been used.

There was a note attached to the stock.

'_Do try not to leave it behind again. MH._'

John chuckled and put the pistol back.


	11. Choose

_Contains minor spoilers for "The Great Game."_

* * *

**Choose**

Red lights all over the place. On the wall, on the ground, on his chest. On _John_.

He is holding a pistol, but for the first time he has to admit confusion. Which point is the sight of the real gun? The one on his own temple (obvious from John's horrified glance), the one on his friend's left shoulder (_not_ good, enough damage there already), or one of the points aimed at their hearts?

Because if it is the latter John will take the bullet, no question.

He and John exchange a penetrating, understanding glance, then Sherlock turns and aims.


	12. Blindsided

_This piece takes place some time after Sherlock's return._

* * *

**Blindsided**

"You did _what!_" Sherlock nearly yelped, gaping at John.

John rolled his eyes. "Scotland Yard had an alert out for a criminal who showed up at hospital, so I cuffed him to the bed. It turned out that the man who brought him in was an accomplice they didn't know about, so I tackled him when he tried to escape."

"In _front_ of your co-workers."

"Yes."

Sherlock turned and glared at Mycroft. "Why didn't you tell me when I was in Scotland?"

"Wait," John interrupted, "he _knew_ you were alive?"

"Yes."

Mycroft, amused, found himself under two very un-amused glares.


	13. Two

**Two**

John is speaking with Lestrade, Sherlock hovering impatiently by a cab in the background (even though the case was just concluded and there's really no need to hurry) when John's phone rings. He glances at Lestrade questioningly and Lestrade waves him off, so John checks his texts. Mycroft. Of course.

John smiles somewhat wryly and glances at Sherlock, who has obviously realized what's going on and is scowling crossly. "Need to go," he says briefly. "I've been summoned."

Lestrade walks with him toward the taxi as Donovan scoffs, "By who, the Freak?"

John doesn't even react to her insult. Lestrade thinks he isn't going to reply, but just as they reach the taxi John mumbles wryly, "No, the other one."

From inside the cab Sherlock gives a strangled snort of laughter.


	14. Retired

_You get two posts today! Thanks to all the people who have reviewed, followed and favorited this story so far - I really appreciate it!_

* * *

**Retired**

"...And you two will either stay put or stick together. Bad things tend to happen when you do otherwise, such as being strangled or strapped into bomb vests," Mycroft added pointedly, looking at them both.

"That only happened _once_," Sherlock grumbled at the same time John protested, "Not my fault he was waiting with a tranquilizer gun!"

Bill's mouth fell open and he swiveled his head back and forth, trying to see if this was all just some elaborate joke he was unaware of. Unfortunately, all three conversants looked completely serious.

When had _that_ happened? Wasn't John retired?

Apparently not.


	15. Double Play

_This one is more mischief than anything else..._

* * *

**Double Play**

Sherlock knew there was a problem when he actually _remembered_ the name of John's date for the evening.

In the past, he had been introduced to all and sundry (before John decided that was a bad move; Sherlock met them all anyway) and promptly deleted any and all information on said subject. This time, though, he knew her name was _Mary_, and also knew that this was their third date.

Even worse, John hadn't tired of her yet and Sherlock hadn't managed to get more than a passing glimpse.

Sherlock slipped on his coat and followed John.

_This means war_.


	16. Oversight

_Author's note: This is a bit of an experiment for me; a story placed during "The Great Game" with reports and texts from the desk (and phone) of Mycroft Holmes. Because I just had to wonder - where was he during all that?_

* * *

**Oversight**

Report:

SURVEILLANCE HAS LOST JOHN WATSON. WE ARE DOING OUR BEST TO REESTABLISH CONTACT.

* * *

_6:13 PM_

**From**: M Holmes

**To:** Sherlock

_Sherlock, where is your friend? He just disappeared from surveillance, are you trying something?_

* * *

_6:49 PM_

**From:** M Holmes

**To:** Sherlock

_Still no sign. Are you even aware he's missing?_

* * *

_7:15 PM_

**From:** M Holmes

**To:** Sherlock

_Sherlock, answer me._

* * *

_9:28 PM_

**From:** M Holmes

**To:** Sherlock

_John Watson's location is now top priority. I would suggest you find out where he is._

* * *

Report:

SURVEILLANCE HAS ALSO LOST SHERLOCK HOLMES. WE ARE DOING OUR BEST TO LOCATE HIM.

* * *

_10:50 PM_

**From:** M Holmes

**To:** Sherlock

_If it has anything to do with Moriarty, both of you stay out of it._

* * *

_11:00 PM_

**From:** M Holmes

**To:** Sherlock

_Sherlock, what kind of a game are you playing at?_

* * *

Report:

SHERLOCK HOLMES'S WEBSITE HOLDS INVITE TO DISUSED POOL.

* * *

_11:37 PM_

**From:** M Holmes

**To:** Sherlock

_Sherlock!_

* * *

_11:59 PM_

**From:** M Holmes

**To:** Sherlock

_You didn't._

* * *

Report:

BOMB SQUAD CALLED TO DISUSED POOL IN RELATION TO FIFTH PIP.

* * *

Report:

PIP CONFIRMED TO BE JOHN WATSON NOW ACCOMPANIED BY SHERLOCK HOLMES. BOTH ARE WELL AND UNHARMED.

* * *

_12:58 AM_

**From:** M Holmes

**To:** Sherlock

_I swear neither of you are going anywhere without surveillance again._

* * *

_1:09 AM_

**From:** Sherlock

**To:** M Holmes

_Fat chance. Now get off my back. – SH_

* * *

_1:11 AM_

**From:** M Holmes

**To:** Sherlock

_Small chance of that._

* * *

_1:13 AM_

**From:** Sherlock

**To:** M Holmes

_I know. – SH_


	17. Nothing

**Nothing**

A psychopath is basically one step short of insane and best avoided if you value your life. A sociopath is supposed to be a master manipulator, charming and deadly. High-functioning sociopath wasn't a medically recognized term.

Regardless, no one at Scotland Yard would have recognized the man convulsed with laughter in a chair at 221B at the moment.

"John," Sherlock chortled, finally gaining control of himself and looking across at his flatmate, who was beet-red and still shaking with restrained chuckles, "you couldn't think of anything else to say."

John shook his head, still redfaced. "At the time it seemed true enough."

For some reason, this seemed to set Sherlock off again. "You," he managed to gasp out, "must honestly have a deathwish or some other malady. Who in the _world_... and then within twenty-four hours..."

When they had exhausted their levity for the moment, Sherlock finally tossed the small blue-backed journal up on top of the mantle as John stood, presumably to make them some tea.

After he had left the room, Sherlock snorted. Still slouched against the chairback, he muttered under his breath:

" 'Nothing happens to me'? Seriously, John..."


End file.
